A bedtime story

I thought I heard your voice in the dim room whispering that you wanted to show me something. Something that was lost and I had been looking for.

I just returned home from my journey through the mountains. It was cold, high up there. The air was thin. I had followed the small snowy paths for weeks in a row.

Away from the living world my heart had begun to freeze. I was walking with a heart of ice. It became heavy with sharp edges.

Until she caught my eye. This wild animal’s soul.

She stood in front of me. Her spotted coat covered in fluffy snow flakes.

Her timid eyes as if she felt caught. Her attentive ears pricked up.

I was petrified and full of wonder at the same time.

She didn’t move and looked at me. Unafraid.

A mystical beauty.

I was glued to the ground, I couldn’t take another step.

She lived alone at altitude as she was hiding from the world below.

That world that hounded her, not only for who she was, but also for who she had become.

She needs her solitude like the fish need the seas.

Here in the cold mountains she was home.

I looked at her, the way she trod the rocky paths, weightless and calmly without hesitation, dauntless, without a single sound, and my heart became soft again. The sharp edges melted.

My skin felt cold in the icy air, but within little flames were burning.

I continued my path, carried her mysterious image in my heart, played it like a silent movie in the theatre of my mind and decided to go back.

I went back to the far world below, leaving her and her majestic mountains behind, the clean air and the solitude.

In the distance I hear your voice now.

Slowly I awaken. My eyes are looking around the room.

On the sidetable there’s a postcard.

A snow leopard with fiery eyes and soft skin looks at me.

It reads: “Soon I will be home again and bring you a bag full of stories and mysteries. With love from the mountains.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Conversations With The Stars

A girl sits in the window, staring into the sleepless night. There’s a heaven full of stars. Some of them are shining so bright, like they want her to be known. The moment before she was looking into an old photo album with photographs of her family. A picture of her mother when she was a little girl in her favorite flower dress playing the piano. Photos of her grandmother with big curly hair making chickensoup in the small kitchen. A photograph of an old aunt celebrating her birthday with homemade apple pie whilst blowing out the many birthday candles. Images of uncles smoking cigars who later went to war and never returned to their homes. Photos of cousins, nephews and nieces. Faraway family. Most faces she hardly knew, lives she didn’t have any idea of. A photo of her mother suddenly fell to the ground. There was a brown spot on the back of the photo which once must have been the sticky glue to paste it on. Many lives have been before her, before her mother’s and grandmother’s, her father’s and grandfather’s life. Before all these family photos were the lives of her ancestors.

Times were different back then. There was not much in times of poverty and war, but they had each other. She picked up the picture from the ground. Her mother must have been eight or nine, wearing a bow in her long straight hair, looking into the camera with a grin and big eyes full of wonder. A little princess face. A whole life lied at her mother’s feet, not having a single clue what it would bring. Sunhine and rainbows would happily fill her life; dark, bursting clouds would fight for a place in it as well. The girl tried to see if the picture already showed any trace of her mother’s misfortune that shortly happened after the photo was taken. She softly slid her finger over her mother’s cheek, kissed her beautiful eyes and held the photograph close to her heart. Death doesn’t announce itself through smiling children’s faces, but chooses its own unfathomable way. Sometimes death is sly and slow, other times it’s quick and merciless. On an misty October morning the girl’s mother found her young mother dead; she died in her sleep. Yes, death could be soft too, almost understanding. It broke her mother’s little heart. The only time her mother didn’t cry was at night when she gazed to the stars, picked the brightest one and imagined it was her sweet mother. It was her light that spoke to her and lulled her to sleep.

Many stars and years later the girl sits in the window talking with the stars like her own mother did. They’re telling her she can go to sleep now. There’s no need to be afraid. The starlight will guard her, just like her father, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts and uncles do. And her ancestors. Long after they’ve gone.

Schermafbeelding 2017-05-23 om 19.35.02
Photo source: Pinterest. Artist unknown.

Blue {short story}

blue

 

She tells him why the color blue always gives her a sense of happiness in the mornings. That summer feeling caused by a joyful glance at the blue sea from her window as soon she’s awake in the fresh morning. The sea fascinates her, it’s like a muse, it’s where Thetys lives, the goddess of the blue sea. She has to go out for a walk, enjoying the free, salty air. While walking along the shore nobody will notice her so early today. The inhabitants of the small sea village are still in their houses, probably asleep.

She talks to him as their bare feet touch the cool sand and she speaks about why the blue sea stands for all what hope should be: Because the sea will always remain. It is alive. It never leaves us.” Long salty hair falls in her left blue eye and while she tries to avoid his scanning look at her she continues her story that the night before she had seen the most beautiful black cat ever. It had icy blue eyes. It stayed by her side and kept her company. The mysterious cat with the magical blue eyes continued to follow her wherever she went. Only after she came back to enter their tiny house it suddenly disappeared from the patio into the surrounding bushes. The black animal was kind to her.

This morning the sky is already sheer blue. The promise of a long summer day with endless possibilities. She asks him if he wants to have a dive in the clear blue water with her. She feels she desperately needs his company. Unlike other days the many bluish fish are not coming curiously towards her and swimming around her in the fresh water. Together they’re swimming to the tall cliff not too far from the coast and back again to the white sandy beach. The sea is silently calm. Seagulls are flying in circles above them, making this familiar sound. Are they laughing? While he moves his way into the water he quickly puts his arm around her: “What’s the matter my baby? Tell me why you‘re feeling blue on this very day?”

 

* After I wrote these words I suddenly realized it’s about my mum who misses my dad in her life. And how his spirit is still with her. Today it’s their wedding anniversary  7-7-1964 ❤️

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